


Been an Awful Good Girl

by gutsforgarters



Series: Big Hands, I Know You're the One [5]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, BHF2019, Daddy Kink, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Femdom, Light Dom/sub, Older Man/Younger Woman, Praise Kink, Switching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 12:07:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21814732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gutsforgarters/pseuds/gutsforgarters
Summary: Beth's got Daryl all to herself for a cozy December afternoon. She doesn't intend to let it go to waste.
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Beth Greene
Series: Big Hands, I Know You're the One [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1525004
Comments: 16
Kudos: 83
Collections: Bethyl Holidays Fest





	Been an Awful Good Girl

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kattyshack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kattyshack/gifts).

> Written for Ultimate Bethyl Fic List's Bethyl Holidays Christmas Fest, to fill the prompt "gifts." Title from "Santa Baby" by Eartha Kitt, because as per Maj, Saint Nick is the OG sugar daddy, and if I have to live with that thought in my head, then so do the rest of you.

It took a stroke of fortuitous timing—not to mention a good bit of gentle cajoling—but Beth’s finally coaxed Daryl into her bedroom, and now that he’s here, she doesn’t intend to let him leave for a good long while. You’d think it would’ve happened sooner, seeing as they’ve been together for literal _months_—the best months of her life, probably, and she doesn’t _care_ if it sounds corny; it’s _true_—but he’s still real skittish when it comes to messing around in the farmhouse even when they’re the only ones there, like he expects Maggie to leap out from around a corner with a cocked rifle and a lust for Dixon blood the second he lets his guard down.

Thing is, he probably does. Daryl’s not easily cowed, and goodness knows he puts the fear of God into poor Jimmy whenever he so much as glances in the guy's general direction, but he’s actually weirdly intimidated by Beth’s overprotective big sister. Beth thinks that’s pretty dang funny, actually, but she’s not about to laugh and piss him off, either; it’d ruin the mood for sure.

And they’ve definitely got a real nice mood going right now, with Daryl sprawled out on his back in her childhood bed, Beth draped across his front as they exchange damp, lazy kisses, the heavy press of his dick against her thigh growing more and more urgent as the minutes melt into an hour.

But _urgent_ may not be the right word for it, actually, because Daryl doesn’t seem in any kind of hurry to do much more than kiss her (and feel her up, and wrap a hand around the base of her mussed ponytail to hold her to him while he works her mouth open with deep strokes of his hot tongue, and make little panting growly noises in her ear that drive her half crazy when she grinds forward against his hard-on).

Okay, fine. Maybe they’re doing a little bit more than _just kissing_, but the point is that he hasn’t tried to unbuckle his belt or unzip her pants, which is frustrating, because she went to a lot of trouble to get him here, and she’s not about to let this empty house go to waste. Just, _no way_.

Daryl chases her when she pulls out of the kiss, making a discontent little noise that he’d probably deny was a whine and butting his nose against hers like an affection-starved cat demanding to be pet. She _does_ pet him, ruffling her fingers through his shaggy hair and smiling gently when his eyes go all half lidded and content. He looks like he’d be purring if he could, and it takes all of her willpower not to scratch him under the chin and call him her _good boy_.

Actually—hold that thought.

“So, um.” Beth licks her tingling lips, and she watches Daryl watch her do it. “I was just wonderin’—”

The content, hazy look instantly sharpens into one of blatant suspicion, and he mutters, “Don’t like the sound’a that,” as he shifts underneath of her. He probably just does it because he needs to stretch after lying in one place with her on top of him for so long, but the movement still drags his dick across her inseam, and Beth ruts against him once in a way that makes him hiss through bared teeth before forcing herself still.

Damn. Dammit. What was she saying, again?

Oh. Right. She rolls her eyes and pokes him in the chest, the curls her fingers in his collar and gives it an admonishing tug. “You didn’t even let me _finish_, jeez.”

Daryl covers her hand with his and chafes his thumb against the inside of her wrist. “Don’t gotta let ya finish to know I won’t like wherever the hell this’s goin’.”

Usually it’s real nice, being with someone who knows her so well. Other times, it’s just plain annoying.

She sticks her tongue out at him. “Grump.”

Daryl swats her on the ass, but he knows his strength, and it doesn’t hurt; just makes her jump and breathe out a startled giggle. “Best put that thing away ’fore I decide ta bite it off.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Wouldn’t’a said it if I didn’t mean it. M’ gonna fry me up some Greene for dinner, you don’t watch yourself.” He bares his teeth again to illustrate his point, and something about the points of his incisors makes her stomach leap. No, she isn’t particularly keen on him biting any parts of her _off_, but she doesn’t really mind it when he bites her in general. 

She also likes to bite him back, but she’s getting sidetracked again, as she often does when she’s in close proximity to this deeply distracting man. So she rolls her tongue back into her mouth. Says, “Yeah, okay, I get it: I better watch it if I don’t wanna get served up on a silver platter. Happy?”

“Nah,” he says, but the smirk tugging at his mouth says different. And Beth _swore _she was done getting sidetracked, but she can’t help but press a brief kiss to the upward tilt of that smirk, burying her face in Daryl’s throat when he tries to turn it into something more, something lingering.

It’s just as well that she’s not looking at him anymore, too, because she’s feeling real shy all of a sudden, real anxious in a way she hasn’t been since the early days of their relationship. Shy, yeah, but not backpedaling. She’s still determined to do this.

She’s still gonna ask him. She is.

“I wanted to, um. I wanted to try somethin’. With you.” Well, duh. Obviously. Who the hell _else_ but him?

Daryl wraps both arms around her and rubs her back, pets her hair. His hands are warm. Even in the grip of winter, he’s always so warm.

“Yeah?” he asks, real gentle in a way that’d probably surprise folks who didn’t know him better. “What?”

He can tell she’s nervous. Of course he can. Would probably be able to tell even if she wasn’t being so obvious about it, because it’s like she said earlier: he knows her. He _knows _her, so he knows she’s anxious, and that’s very likely making _him_ anxious.

She can’t do that to him. He worries about her enough as it is; she doesn’t need to go piling more anxieties on top of his usual ones. Not if it’s within her power to do something about it.

And because it_ is_ within her power, she sits up and back and settles herself astride his hips, cunt snug against his dick through two layers of denim and two more of cotton, pressing down on his chest when he grunts and arches into her.

Steady. _Steady_. They can’t start anything up until after she’s said her piece.

So she says it. She does. And maybe the way she fans her eyelashes is a little calculated—not to mention a little ridiculous—but the excited, breathy quality to her voice is entirely genuine.

“I’ve been a real good girl, haven’t I, Daddy?”

The change in him is instant, all that anxiety melting away like ice during the thaw as his flush deepens and his jaw tightens and his eyes narrow. Not predatory—never predatory, at least not in_ that_ way—but definitely intent. Focused, like he’s peering out at her through dense foliage. He doesn’t need to stalk her, though, doesn’t need to catch her, because he’s already got her, stroking her hipbones with his thumbs as his fingers bite into her ass, shifting around underneath of her like he’s bracing himself to roll them over. 

_Not so fast_. Beth does some bracing of her own, spreading her thighs farther apart and digging her knees into the mattress. She won’t be able to stop him if he decides to flip her onto her back—she’s stronger than she looks, yeah, but he’s still twice her size—but it’s enough to convey that she doesn’t want to swap positions just yet.

And because he knows the language of her body better than anyone else, he understands, and concedes—for now. He relaxes some, at least, big body going loose as he allows her to keep him trapped between her thighs. She was already wet, has _been_ wet, but that tiny concession—that moment of_ submission_—just makes her wetter, like at any moment she’ll soak right through her underwear to darken the crotch of her jeans.

The top button of his flannel shirt was already undone, so she pops the second and strokes him from collarbone to sternum, feeling for firm muscle and wiry hair. 

“Well?” she pushes. “Have I?”

Daryl squints at her. He looks suspicious again. “Sometimes.”

Beth huffs. She wants to pinch him, but he just might flip them over for real if she does. “Only sometimes?”

He smacks her on the ass again, and she jolts forward, bracing her hands on his heavy shoulders to keep from tipping into him and busting her nose open on his forehead. His scruff tickles her cheek when he says, _growls_, “A good girl wouldn’ fuckin’ cocktease me in front’a her entire goddamn family.”

Oh. He’s talking about Thanksgiving dinner. Beth wrangles her smirk with questionable success and pops another button. “Ain’t my fault you can’t take a little bit’a footsie under the table, jeez.” She presses her smile to the sharp line of his cheekbone. “And I got what was comin’ to me, didn’t I, Daddy?”

His hips rut forward at the reminder of exactly _how _she got what was coming to her—of how he’d cornered her in the upstairs bathroom later that night and yanked her jeans down just far enough to fuck her raw, of how she was already so wet with shivery anticipation that he barely had to finger her to get her ready for his dick. He fingered her anyway, though, stretching her out nice and slow until she was begging him, teasing her the way she’d teased him.

Yeah. She got what was coming to her. But so did he.

Daryl nudges his cheek against hers, and she uses her grip on his shoulders to lever herself into a sitting position. He’s still squinting at her, but the look on his face isn’t so much suspicious anymore as it is thoughtful, like he’s trying to puzzle something out. Trying to puzzle _her_ out.

“What’s this all about, anyways? You anglin’ for more Christmas presents?”

She thinks of the tree in the den, twinkling with gold and white lights and filling every corner of the big farmhouse with the heavy, syrupy scent of pine needles. It’s a beautiful tree—her dad's got a keen eye for that kinda thing—but what she wants can’t be found underneath of it. Besides, Daryl _knows_ she’s not the kind of person to buy into the more materialistic side of the holiday season.

Still, she says, “You could say that.”

“Hell’s that mean? Ya either are or y’ain’t.”

She could explain, or _try_ to explain. But she’s terrified of messing it up—she _knows_ she’d mess it up, and then she’d just plain_ give _up—and anyway, actions always speak louder than words where Daryl’s concerned. If she hadn’t approached him the way she did, they’d probably still be skirting around each other like bashful preteens at a school dance, and since _that_ leap of faith paid off, she thinks this one will, too.

And if he doesn’t like it, she’ll tell him that it’s alright to say so, and then they can do something else.

But she’s pretty sure he _will_ like it. Call it a hunch.

So, instead of trying and failing to explain herself, Beth pushes onto her hands and knees and crawls backwards off the foot of the bed and over the heavy cedar chest shoved flush with the box spring. She’s in her socks—Daryl is, too, ’cause she wouldn’t let him in her bed till he took off his filthy boots—and she stops to strip those off before shimmying out of her jeans and then her sunshine-yellow sweater, unsnapping her bra with a deft flick of her wrist and not bothering to try and make any of it look sexy. A strip tease’d take too long, and anyway, she’d only feel foolish the whole time, like a little girl playing at being an exotic dancer.

Daryl doesn’t seem to mind that she’s not making a big production out of taking her clothes off, anyway, pushing up on one elbow to watch her intently, eyes flickering from her legs to her breasts to the damp cling of her cotton panties.

Yeah. He seems to like what she’s doing just fine.

Beth smiles and smooths the static electricity out of her ponytail, then climbs back into bed, settling herself against Daryl’s hips once more. She ruts her slit against his inseam, friction all the sweeter now that her jeans are out of the way, smiling even wider when he groans openly and shamelessly, eyes flickering like they’re gonna roll back in his head.

She’d like to see them roll all the way back in his skull for real, and not just because she’s gotten on his last nerve. Maybe she will see that, by the time she’s done with him. She sure hopes so.

In the meantime, she picks up where she left off with his shirt, popping the fourth, fifth, and sixth buttons, spreading the halves open to expose his scruffy chest and hard stomach. She can’t get it all the way off without his help, though, so she draws a teasing circle around his navel with her fingertip and asks, “You wanna take this off for me, Daddy?”

Daryl wraps his hand around her wrist to hold her still, then captures its twin before she can touch him with her free hand.

“Why the hell should I?” he rasps, cranky and repressive, but his pupils are wide as they’ve ever been.

“I took _mine_ off,” she says, giving him guileless, imploring eyes as she straddles him in her pale pink underwear. “S’only fair, ain’t it?”

“Don’t give a shit about fair,” Daryl grouses, but he lifts up enough to shrug off his shirt, swearing up a storm when the left sleeve catches on his elbow. Beth suppresses a laugh and helps him out of it, dropping a kiss onto his chest as soon as it’s all the way off. His breath hitches when she does that—either at the touch of her tongue or the tickle of her ponytail, she’s not sure.

“Yeah, well, I _do_,” she retorts. She toys with his belt buckle but doesn’t unclip it just yet. “If I’m a real good girl, that means I deserve to get what I want. Ain’t that right, Daddy?”

The faint lines that frame Daryl’s hooded eyes deepen and branch out when he scowls. He shoves a hand between them to cup her pussy, gives it a firm squeeze, and Beth’s mouth drops open around a whine as she rocks reflexively against his thick fingers. Jesus, that ain’t _fair_.

But he just said he doesn’t give a shit about _fair_, didn’t he?

“Never said you was a good girl,” he reminds her, and it’s real difficult to think straight while he’s rocking his palm against her like that, but that’s probably exactly _why_ he’s doing it.

“Nah—nah-ah. You—ugh, _God_—you said—” Beth sinks her teeth into her lower lip and just about bites clean through it when Daryl changes up the angle of his hand to circle his thumb against her clit. “You said I was good _sometimes_. That’s gotta—that’s gotta count for somethin’, right, Daddy?”

“Guess it does,” Daryl allows, magnanimous now that he’s got the upper hand, so to speak. He nudges her panties aside, brushes his callused fingers over her cunt’s sticky lips. “Whatchu want, then, huh? C’mon, girl, spit it out.”

Well. Since he asked.

Before he can so much as push a single finger into her pussy, Beth cuffs her hand around his wrist and pins it to the bed. She’s not strong enough to keep him there, but it’s not about being _strong enough_. It’s about him just plain_ letting_ her.

Daryl’s eyebrows arch toward his hairline, and his fingers twitch against the mattress, but he doesn’t shake her off or ask her what the hell she thinks she’s doing. If anything, the flash of his tongue and the flex of his hips would indicate that he’s…_intrigued_.

Intrigued is good. She can work with intrigued.

So she says, sweet and slow as molasses dripping outta the jar, “Right now I just want you to hold still, Daddy.”

Daryl’s forehead pinches. “You jus’ want me to fuckin’ lay here?”

“Just for a little bit,” she promises him, and bends to kiss him sweetly on the mouth. She only lets him kiss her back for a second, though, before she’s pulling out of it and giving his wrist a squeeze. “You gotta promise not to move, okay, Daddy?”

Daryl’s cheeks flush lurid red. His eyes drop—either to steal another look at her wet panties or because he’s just plain feeling bashful, who knows—but then they meet hers again.

“Yeah,” he says, and there’s something in his voice that she’s never heard from him before. “Yeah, alright. Guess I can do that.”

God, she loves him. She loves him so much.

“That’s good, Daddy,” she croons, letting go of his wrist to stroke her fingers through his hair and scratch her nails against his scalp, smiling when his eyes go all half lidded. “You’re doin’ real good.”

She sees it when the connection dawns on him, when he realizes where he’s heard those exact words before—when he realizes that he’s heard them coming out of his own mouth while he got her off.

Sees that he likes it.

Beth’s lips curve into a pleased smile, and she lets him go, rising up on her knees so she’s hovering over his dick instead of sitting on it. He shoves_ his_ hips up like he’s trying to chase her, but he keeps his hands where she put them, doing as she asked. Doing as she _told_ him to.

Her legs are gonna feel the strain if she stays kneeling like this for more than a few minutes, but she doesn’t intend to hold the position for long. No, she gets right to it, only a little bit of a tease as she rakes her nails down her abdomen and toys with her panties’ waistband before tugging the crotch to one side the way Daryl tried to earlier, exposing her short bush and the lips of her cunt, fat and gleaming as they protrude from their tangled nest of dark blond hair.

Daryl’s eyes home in on them, on _her_, and his hand jerks like it’s being pulled on marionette strings. Beth shakes her head and clicks her tongue against her teeth.

“What I say 'bout keepin’ your hands to yourself, huh, Daddy?” She combs her fingers through her coarse pubic hair, eyelids fluttering at the shock of feeling she gets from brushing them across her swelling clit. “You gotta be_ good_, or you don’t get to play with me.”

Daryl grabs a handful of pale purple comforter, crumpling it in his fist. His eyes are sharp and annoyed, but his nostrils flare when he catches the smell of her on the air, lips parting like he’s trying to taste it on his tongue. “What, you think you’re in charge now?”

Beth’s smile turns a little devious—more than a little if she’s honest, and she usually is. “Just for now.”

Daryl’s chest and throat are damp with sweat even though it’s freezing outside of the cozy farmhouse. “Gonna get yours, girl,” he promises her, but she just smiles wider and eases two fingers between her pussy lips.

“I sure hope so,” she says, and rolls wet fingers over her tingling clit, plants her free hand on Daryl’s twitching abdomen. “S’okay, Daddy. You’ll—_fuck_—you’ll get yours, too. Promise.”

Daryl makes a noise that’s probably meant to sound pissed off, but it mostly comes across as kind of helpless, especially when Beth angles her hand and sinks two fingers into her pussy all at once, stretching herself a little too soon and a little too fast in a way that kind of stings.

But she doesn’t mind it, that sting; really, she doesn’t, because taking him always burns just a little no matter how wet she is—and she’s always so, so wet for him—and she always savors the stretch, always has to tell him to quit being so careful with her, that she can take it, to fuck her _harder_, goddammit, to make her feel it for hours after he’s finished nailing her into the mattress (or couch, or wall, or whatever convenient flat surface they happen to be up against at the time).

Daryl crooks his fingers against his palm like he’s imagining they’re taking Beth’s place, and she mimics him, curling her own fingers against her walls and pushing a startled sound out of her throat. It _shouldn’t_ startle her, because she knows her own body, knows what makes her feel good and what doesn’t, but nothing ever made her feel _quite_ this good until Daryl came along, and part of her still can’t believe that it’s possible, that all those romance novels weren’t bullshitting her, after all.

And she wants to draw this impossible feeling out, but she wants to feel Daryl’s bare skin against hers even more, so she drags her fingers out of her cunt with a wet suck and pushes them into her mouth, wraps her tongue around them and laps up the taste of her own pussy. Daryl huffs, whines, white knuckles the comforter.

He doesn’t touch her, though. He’s being good. He’s being so good.

He’s being good for her, so she pops her fingers out of her mouth and unbuckles his belt, unzips his pants, cups her hand around his dick and pulls it out through his open fly. He bucks into her hand, overflowing her palm, veins pulsing and slit leaking. Beth swipes her thumb over his flushed head and tamps down the impulse to lean down and lick up his pre-come, because he’s never let her use her mouth on him before, and she doesn’t think today’s the day to test _that _boundary, not when she’s already pushing so hard at another.

“This all for me, Daddy?” He rolls his eyes and grumbles, and she gives him admonishing squeeze, this close to too tight. “I asked you a question, Daddy. You gonna mind your manners and answer it?”

“Jesus Christ—” Daryl fucks her tunneled fingers, and she gives him an obliging jerk, just the way he likes it. “I—_fuck_—y’know it is, girl, Jesus.”

“That’s good.” Beth points his dick at her cunt and shuffles forward on her knees, not to take him inside of her but to nestle his spongy head against her clit and give herself a stroke that makes her mouth drop open and her pussy drool. “Y’know—y’know I hate sharin’, Daddy.”

“That’s ’cause—fuck—” Beth teases his head against her flared opening, and his teeth snap together so fast that, for a second there, she’s genuinely afraid he bit his tongue in half. “S’cause you’re a spoiled lil’ brat, s’what you are.”

“Then what does that make you, huh, Daddy?” She pins his cock against his stomach and sits on it, slicks her gaping pussy lips up and down the shaft. “You don’t—you don’t like sharin’, either, remember?”

“You’re goddamn_ right_ I don’t,” he grits out, hands latching onto her hips, and she sees it in his eyes when his brain catches up with his actions, when he realizes that he did what she told him_ not_ to, that she might make him face some kinda consequence for disobeying her, but—

But, well. It’s his first time on this end of things, so she decides to go easy on him.

Just this once.

“S’alright, Daddy.” She rests more of her weight on him and ruts harder against his twitching dick, covering him in the smell and feel of her pussy because he _belongs to her_, goddammit. “You can—you can touch me, s’fine, g’on.”

She thinks he says, _“Thank Christ,”_ but it’s hard to tell over the sound of his relieved groan. He pulps her hips, slaps her ass, guides her into a slow, hot roll against him.

“C’mon, girl.” His eyes travel from her flushed face to her bouncing tits to her red pussy lips split open around his shaft. “C’mon, fuck me.”

“Nah-ah.” She shakes her head, ponytail whipping from side to side, and smiles when he whines. She works her hips faster, back against his palms and forward onto his dick, gets him writhing around underneath of her. “You gotta ask _nice_, Daddy. You gotta say _please_.”

“Girl, I swear to fuckin’ God—”

Beth sits up on her knees and cups his rough jaw in her hands when he whines. His lower lip’s dented from the anxious press of his teeth, and she runs a soothing thumb across it.

“C’mon, Daryl.” Her thighs tremble and her cunt drips, but she’s not gonna give him what he wants until he gives her what _she_ wants. “You just gotta say please, and I’ll do whatever you want.”

He leans into her touch, eyelids fluttering. She knows he’s gonna capitulate before the words are even out of his mouth, but it still hits her like an open-handed slap to the clit when he says, hoarse and undone and _begging_ for her, “Fuck, Beth, _please_.”

That’s it. That’s all she wanted to hear from him.

She kisses him, sweet and soft and adoring because she _does_, she does adore him, and then she sits back, wraps her hand around his shaft, notches his head against her gaping pussy, and takes him down to the root.

It’s wet and easy, that slide, because they’re both dripping all over each other, and she doesn’t have to work him inside herself by inches the way she sometimes does. Still, the stretch burns a little in that way she loves, in her thighs and in her pussy, and she clenches up on instinct, pulling a wounded groan out of Daryl’s flushed throat. Beth’s eyelids flutter shut, her head tips back on her neck, and she thinks, _Jesus. Jesus._

She went on the pill so she could take him bare like this, so he could come inside her without them having to worry too much about a surprise they aren’t ready for. No condom means he’s gonna make a sticky mess out of them both, means that thick ropes of his come are gonna drip out of her cunt and form a big nasty wet spot on the bed, but Beth knows that the cleanup’ll be worth it. It always is.

Her cunt clenches again just thinking about it, seizing up so tight it’s like she's on the cusp of an orgasm, and Daryl’s cock jerks inside of her—not coming, not yet, not until she _says _he can, but he’s close. So’s she, and she takes a minute to savor the hot unfiltered drag of his dick inside her, the way her pussy clings to his every ridge and vein, every thick hard inch of him that’s almost more than she can take. He could rip her apart if he was so inclined, but she’s the one with a webwork of powerful muscles between her legs, powerful enough to push out that baby she’s not ready to have, and if she wanted to, if she really wanted to, she could choke him off at the base with all that slippery wet muscle, squeeze him until he was fit to pop.

She does want that. She wants it, so she does it, flexing, _contracting_ around him, and his eyes really do roll back in his head this time as his hips ride up to meet hers and his fingers bite fresh bruises into the clenched muscles of her ass.

“Tight enough for you, Daddy?” she asks, giggling breathlessly when her smart mouth earns her another smack on the ass. He’s too wrecked to scold her, though, can only scowl, and, fuck, but that’s heady, just makes her wetter on his dick as she braces herself on her hands and knees and drags her clinging, sucking pussy halfway up his shaft only to slam herself back down with an obscene slap.

This time, his groan gets drowned out by her squeal.

She doesn’t tease him any more after that, doesn’t make either of them wait any longer, because she can feel her orgasm burning in her womb and tingling in her clit, and she’s feeling feral enough to tear her own skin off if she doesn’t get to come _right fucking now_. She wants to take him fast and brutal and just a little bit _mean_, wants to fuck herself on his dick until they’re both shaking, so she bares her teeth and rides him at a sprint, setting a hard, steady rhythm that strains in her thighs and grips him tight on every downstroke, gets him wrecked and moaning and fucking her back at a pace that makes her teeth rattle.

“You’re beautiful,” she tells him, forcing the words past the gasp caught in her throat because he _needs to hear them_. Except she’s not sure that he hears them at all, actually, until his flushed face crumples with denial, until he shakes his head _no_. He doesn’t believe her. Of course he doesn’t. She didn’t really expect him to.

But that doesn’t mean she can’t argue her point.

“You _are_,” she insists, slowing her rhythm not to tease him into a frenzy, but to give herself space to think. She cups his face in her hands, rakes her nails down his chest and stomach, nails catching in coarse wisps of hair and cutting thin red lines into his skin. “You’re so beautiful, Daryl, you’re so good, you always make me feel _so good_, God, I love you, I love you so much—”

And he may not believe that he's beautiful, but his body reacts to what she’s saying, and he grits his teeth, whimpers, twitches inside her. She shakes her head, hair coming loose from her ponytail to fall into her eyes, and she rakes the strands back before pinning Daryl’s wrists in a hold he could but doesn’t break.

“Don’t—don’t come yet.” She rocks back, looks down to where her pussy lips are hugging his shaft, to the blur of his pistoning dick, all shimmering wet from her. He’s hers, he’s _hers_. “You don’t—you don’t get to come till I do, you hear me?”

He does, if the piteous, discontent sound that gurgles out of his throat is anything to go by, but he clenches his abdominal muscles and holds himself off, shivering all over with the effort it takes to obey her. But he won’t have to hold off for much longer, not now that Beth’s fingering her clit, chafing at that hard slick swell of flesh until her pussy clamps up like a steel trap and ripples into an orgasm, until she comes with a shudder and a gush and a strained little _“Ah,”_ until—

Until Daryl rolls them over, crushing the air out of her lungs and pushing her thigh up and back so he can sink deeper into her cunt, his other hand pinning her wrist to the squealing bed. His teeth are bared, eyes wild behind the curtain of his hair, and this—

But, Jesus, this is exactly how she hoped it would end.

“Goddamn _brat_,” he huffs. Beth can barely hear him over the sound of the headboard banging against the wall, but she gets the gist, and she laughs breathlessly as he fucks her steadily into the mattress. “Who the _fuck_ d’you think you are, huh, fuckin’ around with me like that—”

“M’ sorry, Daddy,” she says, even though she really isn’t. Her nails catch against the scars on his back, her heels dig into his ass to spur him on. “I’m sorry, m’ sorry, I was just havin’ _fun_—”

“Shut the fuck up.” He sucks a harsh kiss onto her neck, but the hand on her wrist remains gentle even as his thrusts bounce her hips against the bed. But he’s not just chasing his own orgasm, no, because then he’s shoving a hand between them to thumb her clit, still twitching with aftershocks, and she shakes and moans and tries to squirm away from the sensory overload, but there’s nowhere_ to_ go.

That’s okay, though. She doesn’t actually want to get away.

“I can’t come again, Daryl, I can’t, I can’t, I _can’t_—”

“You fuckin’ _will_,” he says, and his thumb hits her just right, and she does. She does. She clenches her teeth and her cunt and her fingers and she comes, sobbing, all over his dick.

He climaxes half a minute later, like he was waiting for her—and he probably was—hips jerking through his orgasm as he comes inside of her in long hot spurts, filling her to overflowing, thick and sticky and everything she wanted, amplifying her own aftershocks until she’s whimpering from it.

Her pussy slurps at his dick when he drags it out of her, and he tugs her wrinkled panties back into place before his come can leak onto the mattress, keeping it inside of her. Keeping _him _inside of her. He cups her, kneads her, teasing her through her underwear until she squeals and huffs and swats at him. Enough, _enough_, she can’t fucking take it anymore.

He relents with a smirk, then yanks the blankets over them both before she can catch a chill lying around in her underwear, tucking her into his warm side while they come down. Her heartbeat’s just started to slow when he speaks up.

“Jesus Christ, girl. What the fuck was that all about?”

Her shrug belies her increased heartrate, and she averts her eyes, traces senseless patterns on his chest. His sweat’s starting to dry. “I wanted to try somethin’ new, I guess.” She tucks her face against his throat and mumbles, “Did you not…like it?” He _seemed_ to like it in the moment, but her insecurities won’t let her be even now.

He gives her ass a fond smack. “Nah,” he says, and if he sounds a little embarrassed, he also sounds pretty damn pleased with them both. “Nah, I liked it.”

Beth instantly relaxes into his side. “Oh. Okay. Good.”

Daryl fiddles with her fingers, tracing her pinkie from tip to knuckle. “Uh. I was wonderin’.”

_That’s_ a worrying opener if she’s ever heard one. Beth pushes up onto one elbow and shoves her hair out of her face, fighting not to frown. “Yeah?”

“Didja, uh. Didja wanna stay over at my place tonight?”

Oh. Was that all? Beth grins and says, “You ain’t afraid’a Maggie?”

Daryl scowls. “The fuck? No.”

Her grin just grows. “Really?”

“Fuck off.” But then he turns shy again, ears flushing red and palm chafing at his stubble. “You could stay more’n one night, if ya wanted. I ain’t—I ain’t askin you to move in or nothin’, but if you wanted to stay over a couple nights a week…”

Again, Beth thinks, _Oh_.

She nudges his hand out of the way and presses her smiling lips to his cheek. “Can I have my own drawer?”

Daryl huffs a laugh and combs his fingers through her hair. “Yeah, girl. You can have your own drawer. M’ warnin’ you now, though, Merle likes to drop in ev’ry once in a while, an’ he usually brings a friend.”

That’s moderately alarming, but she’ll cross that bridge when she gets to it. “S’okay. I’m sure we’ll manage to drown ’em out.”

Daryl flushes beet red, just like she knew he would. “_Christ_,” he says, and maybe he kisses her then to shut her up, but she doesn’t mind one bit.

No. She really doesn’t mind at all.


End file.
